


spliced

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Stitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26973247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: Pre-series Jack and Bozer shenanigans:"Do I look like a surgeon to you?"
Relationships: Wilt Bozer & Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 45





	spliced

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Orianess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orianess/gifts).
  * Inspired by [written in skin [Jack + Stitches + Family]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23666974) by [TANGOCHARLIE](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TANGOCHARLIE/pseuds/TANGOCHARLIE). 



> A while ago, the lovely Orianess sent me this prompt: "do I look like a surgeon to you?" Sorry it's taken me so long to answer it. 
> 
> This story is sort of a prequel to the TangoCharlie story "Written in Skin." 
> 
> This is also my official 100th fic. Thank you to all the friends I've made along the way and all the folks who have read these stories. Truly, I wouldn't still be writing if it wasn't for you!

Jack grits the dishtowel between his teeth, growling as he pulls the blood saturated cloth tighter around his arm. Satisfied with his tourniquet, he leans back, his head clucks against the cabinets as he breathes through the pain. The wound pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He sucks a deep breath between clenched teeth, staving off the blinding white that encroaches in his vision. 

“Oh man, oh man,” Bozer mutters, looking down at Jack’s bloodied t-shirt.

“You got that last shot, right? That was the money shot,” Jack says, knowing he should sit up, open his eyes, crack a joke, do something to staunch the panic that pours out of Bozer faster than the blood from his arm. The thought of moving, and Bozer's concern, makes him nauseated. “Looked real.”

Bozer paces the length of the kitchen, kicking aside the remnants of the set he’d meticulously dressed for filming today, taking the suggestions Jack made when he read the script and running with it. A retired, international retrieval specialist -   
_“A what?”_  
“Muscle, assassin, thief, whatever you need him to be”   
\- who worked through his demons by cooking. The final showdown between the ex-assassin chef and the baddie taking place in the kitchen with improvised weapons. 

_"He kills the guy with an appetizer?” Bozer asked incredulously and Jack gave an enigmatic smile._

_“Don’t underestimate improvisation.”_

“Cause it was real! You’re bleeding out in the kitchen.” Bozer’s eyes widen as he takes in the carnage. “Oh man, Jack, it’s everywhere. It’s not like this in the movies. It’s not a couple of drops for titillating aesthetics. This is a slaughterhouse!”

“It’s not that bad.”

“How would you know? Your eyes are closed!”

Jack shrugs and bites back a hiss of pain as the action pulls on his injured arm. “It did look good though.”

_Bozer had cackled silently with delight as Jack feigned left, blocked with a frying pan and parried with his knife. And then the blood exploded._

_“Oh, that’s better than I hoped!” Bozer crowed “Look at those effects. That blood pack! The red is so... “ Jack lurched and Bozer faltered as the realization hit. “Oh.”_

“Sit down, Bozer, you’re makin’ me dizzy.”

“You’re dizzy?” Bozer’s voice jumps an octave as he drops to a squat next to Jack. Then pops back up. “I told you I should call an ambulance.” His phone clatters against the floor when his clumsy fingers drop it.

“Bozer, it’s fine. I don’t need an ambulance.”

“Mac is going to kill me.”

“Mac doesn’t have to find out,” Jack’s voice is sharp, taut with pain that he’s shoving aside. If anything, Mac is going to kill _him_ for this. Later. When everything settles down and Bozer isn’t around, Mac's going to question why Jack couldn’t resist showing off his crazy knife skills for an amateur movie and risk blowing their cover. Why he risked piquing Bozer's curiosity and stimulating his imagination that's already prone to running wild. 

Mac is adamant about keeping this part of his life from his best friend. Resolute in keeping Bozer safe. And Jack doesn't blame him. There are plenty of people in his life that Jack keeps carefully separated from this side of it. 

“We can take care of it here.”

“Here? Do I look like a surgeon to you?”

“Honestly? More like a surgeon than an international spy,” Jack teases. “Hey, come on, cool it. I’m fine.”

“You just sawed half your arm off.”

“Nah, look, it’s hardly even bleeding anymore,” Jack holds up an arm, rivulets of blood stain the length down to his wiggling fingertips.

Bozer stumbles.

“Hey, Bozer,” Jack moves to a crouch, reaching up with his good hand, careful to keep the bloodied bicep turned from Bozer’s view. “Come sit down a second, okay?”

Bozer accepts Jack’s arm and slides down to sit next to him. 

“Put your head down a second and breathe for me. In for four,” Jack pats Bozer’s shoulder and takes an exaggerated breath. “And hold. And out for four. Good. Let’s do it again.” Jack watches as Bozer’s eyes lose their glassy look, and his breathing slows. “Good,” he praises again, sinking back to sit next to Bozer. 

Jack rubs the back of his neck. He does feel bad. Seeing that much blood is unsettling for anyone. He and Bozer have been working hard to define their relationship outside of Mac, an awkward dance around each other. Movies have been an easy bonding topic, though Jack prefers to watch them rather than act in them. When Bozer came home, armed with the information about the latest amateur film competition, his enthusiasm was infectious. Before Jack knew it he went from offering a small script suggestion to volunteering his acting talent, his mouth running away with him. 

He’d immediately started backpedaling, expecting sarcastic commentary from Mac. Instead, when he turned to look at Mac, he found him beaming, pleased with the strides his two best friends were making. He wanted so badly for them to stop suspiciously circling each other and find their own camaraderie. 

Jack just hopes he didn't damage the easy truce they've established.

“You okay?” Jack asks as Bozer raises his head, looking more steady than he had a moment ago.

Bozer nods, leaning forward and peering around Jack to the wound. “I still think you need someone to look at that.”

“I’ll let you look.”

“No, like a doctor. I should call Mac.”

“He’s smart, but he ain’t a doctor.”

Bozer’s jaw tightens.

“Yeah, I get what you’re saying, but that’d just get him all agitated.” He’s not going to hide it, Mac’s trust means everything to him. He’s not going to risk losing that. But he might wait until things are cleaned up a little bit, until Bozer is editing the footage, and impressed with his knife fighting choreography before he confesses. Maybe he’ll wait until Bozer wins the competition and the thousand dollar grand prize. Mac can’t be too mad with him then. 

“He’s going to take one look at me and know something’s up.”

“We’re not going to lie to him. I’d never lie to him,” Jack says, his voice low. Deliberate. “I need you to know that. Mac’s wellbeing is my first priority."

Bozer meets his gaze, steady and steely. "Mine too."

"Okay, good. We'll tell him, but we'll tell him when it doesn't look like we tried to settle our differences with a brawl and bloodshed."

Looking around the kitchen with a grimace, there's a streak of blood running down the wall, trailing Jack's controlled slide to the floor, Bozer nods.

"Alright. Well, I do think it's going to need a couple of stitches. I've done that myself," Jack bites his tongue, but Bozer either doesn't pick up on it, or just attributes the comment to another one of Jack's crazy stories about his time in Special Forces. A fact that Mac accidentally spilled. Jack took great delight in the fact that Mac, for all his warnings to Jack about not revealing too much information, was the first to crack.

“Growing up with Mac, I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve had a bloody friend in the kitchen. I could probably talk you through doing it. Teach you some stitching techniques. 

“Pfft, I can do stitches. I once sewed an embroidered voile with boning and stirred elastic inserts the night before a production of our high school play.”

Jack frowns. “Maybe, I’m more dizzy than I thought. Your mouth is moving but-”

“Stitches I can handle.”

“Okay,” Jack nods slowly. “Stitching up a person is a little different than making a dress.”

“A gown,” Bozer corrects.

“Whatever, fabric is different than… flesh,” Jack winces, not wanting to start the panicking again. “Look, I’ve got a pretty extensive first aid kit in the GTO, why don’t I-” 

“No, sit down,” Bozer commands, putting a restraining hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’ll get it.”

Jack looks down at the hand, affronted, but doesn’t move. Bozer has never really been properly nervous around him. Never hesitated to stand up to him, threaten him even, when he thought maybe Jack didn’t have Mac’s best interests in mind. 

He shouldn’t be too surprised, Mac gave a bemused grunt at Jack’s growls during the early days in the Sandbox. Glares and scowls that sent most people scuttling like roaches in an old tool shed when the lights turned on, just caused Mac to roll his eyes and take a snarky attitude. 

Bozer drops the first aid kit next to Jack with a rattle. 

Jack opens it, rummaging through for a few alcohol prep pads, scrubbing his bloodied skin from below the tourniquet to his fingertips while Bozer washes his hands before joining him on the floor again. 

“You sure you don’t want to-”

“Yep.”

Bozer’s lip curls up as he unties the dish towel, and gets his first real look at the wound. 

Craning his neck, Jack surveys the wound. “Good clean edges.”

“Huh, I thought it’d be all… jagged.”

“I keep my knife sharp.” 

Bozer nods, follows Jack’s directions for irrigating the wound, and prepares to begin stitching. “Shouldn’t you have some lidocaine or something?" 

“It’s gonna suck, yeah, but I'll survive. I've had worse."

"I get it, you're a big badass soldier," Bozer rolls his eyes. He pushes the edges of the wound together and threads the needle through Jack's skin.

Jack's jaw tightens at the first pierce of skin, the sickening feeling of the needle pushing forward, sliding through flesh. "You do what you've gotta do to get through it."

"Bet you never thought when you were discharged that you'd be getting stitches in Mac's kitchen."

Jack cants his head. Probably shouldn't reveal that he's already been stitched in this kitchen once in the six months they've been home. "Well, it is Mac. The first day I was here he blew up the kitchen."

Bozer smiles as he starts another stitch. He looks up at Jack and then down at the wound. His eyes widen again as he remembers that he's sewing up a human.

"Deep breaths, Bozer."

Bozer gives a nervous chuckle. "You're right. It's a little different on a person."

“You never had to do this for Mac?”

“We were kids.”

Jack shrugs the shoulder Bozer isn't working on. “I cauterized a cut on my cousin George’s leg when I was eleven. ‘Course I don’t know if I’ve ever been in more trouble in my life than I was for that. And it got infected.”

Bozer freezes again, still looking up at Jack. “Are you sure-”

“We’re fine, we’re good,” Jack grimaces. He’s supposed to be reassuring Bozer, not giving him more things to worry about.

"Have you-" Bozer falters. "Have you ever had to do this for Mac?"

Jack hesitates, worrying about revealing too much. Hovering on the brink of authentic friendship, Jack goes with the truth. "Once or twice. Tore his leg up pretty good once when we were downrange and a day out from base."

"I remember him mentioning that you had pretty extensive field medic training. I wanted to ask how he knew that but... I didn't really want to know how he knew it either."

"I'm just a dumb country boy, but I'm a quick study. 'Specially if it's gonna keep my guys safe. You don't have to worry. I didn't have to use those skills for Mac too often."

"I'm glad you had them, just in case. Glad you shouldn't need them anymore. Though with Mac..." Bozer's brow furrows as he continues suturing. "One time, he probably should have gotten stitches, but I let him convince me to help him close up this really big slice on his forearm with duct tape. Got away with it too, for a couple of days, until I confessed to my mom when she found the bloody towel we used to clean up."

"Sounds like Mac."

"His dad was pissed. But it was too late to stitch it. Banned him from the treehouse for a while, but he wasn't around long enough to follow through on that."

Jack feels his temper tick up a notch. From the stories he's heard, he's got a low opinion of this James MacGyver.

"I think I'm done."

Jack looks down at the row, with the few wonky stitches in the middle when Bozer panicked. "Looks good. Now let's clean up before Mac gets home."

The house is cleaned and they’re settled onto the couch with plastic containers that look like old-timey, red and white striped popcorn boxes watching the footage from today’s filming when Mac arrives. 

Mac pauses at the threshold of the living room, surveying the scene, eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

“Hey, Mac,” Bozer’s voice taking on a strange twang, trying not to sound guilty. 

“Hey…” Mac says slowly. “What’s going on?”

“Wow, suspicious much?” Jack feigns offense as he elbows Bozer, reminding him to play it cool.

“No, I just know you. Both of you."

“There was a small incident,” Bozer says. 

“It’s hardly worth mentioning,” Jack interjects. “But we are being honest about it. You should remember this. Always a good idea to tell someone if you are injured somehow.” 

“Jack got stabbed.”

“What?!”

“It wasn’t stabbed it just-”

“Skewered.”

“Bozer!”

Mac crosses the room, eyes worried. “Jack.”

“Hemorrhaging. Blood everywhere,” Bozer exaggerates. “Looked like we were making a slasher film.” 

“Lightly punctured at best,” Jack says, glaring at Bozer, while he holds out his arm for Mac’s examination.

“I had to stitch him up.” 

“I told you not to use your knife,” Mac grumbles, pushing up the sleeve of Jack’s t-shirt.

“Hey,” Jack catches Mac’s gaze. “It is fine, hoss. I promise. Nothing to it.”

Mac nods softly, gaze darting from Jack’s face back to the wound. “You sure?”

“Yep, Bozer stitched it up. No big deal.”

“Are you okay?” Mac turns to look at Bozer. “You didn’t get… lightly punctured?"

“Nah, all good here. I didn’t realize the camera was still rolling so we got footage of the clean up too. I think it’s going to be a nice touch for our movie. The aftermath and all that.”

“You’re still going to use it?”

“Mac, I got stabbed for this film. We’re going to win this competition,” Jack says, giving Bozer a high-five. 

"Join us, there's more popcorn on the counter. We got some really good stuff here. Might be the start of a whole new career for Jack. Bozer- Dalton Productions."

Mac gives a small shake of his head with a wry smile. “Alright,” his smile morphs into a full grin. “While I never anticipated this particular scenario leading to it, I am glad you guys are becoming friends.” 

“Yep,” Jack matches his grin, reaching up to finger the skin around his stitches. “And I’ve got a new BFF tattoo to prove it.”


End file.
